


Miles to Go

by msdisdain



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, First Time, angsty angst, this pairing was so angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdisdain/pseuds/msdisdain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janeway giveth, and she taketh away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Written a long, long time ago, under another name. 
> 
> Original Author's Note: This is my second piece of Voyager fanfic, and it was sort of inspired by the four lines of poetry that follow...although it didn't really turn out the way I thought it would.

Fifty-seven years from home.

I thought I had found it, out here among these unfamiliar stars, these uncharted systems. Several years into the journey, I thought I had found it. Or it had found me. A home I had been searching for across several lifetimes. Home in the form of good friends, fulfulling work...and love. The first two are still with me. The last I am no longer certain of.

I will never forget the first time I saw her. No--not the first time I ever laid eyes on her--the first time I _saw_ her. There are many kinds of seeing, and if I think about it hard enough, I realize that I have visualized her through all of them at one time or another. I have seen her before me on the bridge, hands on hips, chin lifted slightly, giving orders impossibly quickly to the crew that would cartwheel across a nebula if she asked them to. I have seen her in my dreams, her hands held out to me, and she is laughing. She is always laughing in my dreams. When I wonder about that, I decide it is because it's my favorite image of her. I have seen her deep within me, her spirit such a part of me now I wonder how I breathed clearly before. I have seen her beneath me, her hair tangled on my rough fingers, her mouth pressed to my flesh, the blankets sliding to the floor with our clothing, her eyes shining in the starlight.

I try not to think about that, but my breath catches in my chest anyway.

The first time I saw her, truly, was the day I watched her step away.

I can't tell you when I fell in love with her, or why. I could speculate, hypothesize. Analyze it. But when I relax within it, I can't see its beginning...or its end. I can only see her, but it is a painful thing now. I reach out my hand, clasp a smoothly rounded stone. Turn it over. Trace the leaf pattern gently, a familiar action. I know she has some of these leaves put away. Months ago, she showed them to me, wordlessly. Speech has always been irrelevant, as Seven would say, with us. We have never needed the words. It made it all the more special, and terrifying, when we used them.

I have always thought of myself as brave, but when I tried to speak to her, only fear came to the surface. I ducked the first time, hiding behind a legend. She saw through me though...she always does. She knew what I was saying. She gave her answer, clasping my hand across the table. Neither one of us knew what it meant yet, but we knew an answer had been given. Slowly we began to trace the path backwards to its source. It has been a long journey. Simple jokes, full of innuendo yet innocent. A rose given--Paris' smirk as I carried it across the bridge, my own chin lifted in a semblance of her stance. Her hand on my chest as feeling bubbled over at the idea of someone--anyone--having the audacity to want to mate with her. A step backwards as my experiences with the Cooperative threatened what we were building. She reached her hand across the rubble to me, though, and we kept going.

And then one day, the sun rose.

The sun rose, and the spring came, and the birds trilled...I know I sound like a fool. But on that day, I could have run through the halls of Voyager singing. A day that I will never let go of. If nothing ever happens to me again, I can cherish that day as the point in my life when I discovered myself.

After successfully rewriting Tuvok's holonovel and saving the lives of both the Vulcan and Paris, we--the senior officers--celebrated with champagne in the observation lounge. Real champagne. I've never been much of a drinker, but with the exhilaration of success running through me, I indulged a little. So did she, and she deserved it, claiming most of the day's success for her own by doing most of the revisions. After the party we roamed the ship a little, reassuring ourselves that the holo-mutiny had not become reality. I walked her to her door. She invited me in for tea. I accepted.

Standing in front of her viewport, I gazed out into the stars, my mind a little foggy from the alcohol. Not too foggy. But I couldn't have flown a shuttle, that's for sure. Neither could she. When she stumbled against the table, sloshing hot tea over her hand, I realized she wasn't doing a great job of walking, either. She cursed under her breath, shaking the moisture to the floor. I grabbed her hand, pulled her into the bathroom. Turned on the tub, cold, and stuck her hand under. Old fashioned remedy. First thing I could think of. She laughed at me, and I thought of the med kit in the other room that would have healed it immediately. In imitation of my mother, I brought the burn to my lips, brushing a kiss across her hand.

Time stopped.

We both froze, leaning against the tub, her hand still in mine. Pulses united through the contact of flesh. The hair on my arms rose up. I heard a shallow gasping. Was it her or me? She raised her eyes, her gaze ran over me like rain. A few moments' heartbeats. Then we were tearing at each other, mouths, hands, bodies crashing together. She tore my uniform in her haste, promising with a chuckle to replicate another from her own rations. We were barely naked before she pulled me to her on the cold bathroom floor, pulled me on top of her, pulled my face down to hers. Kissed me, once, twice. Smiled. I slid inside her as she wrapped her legs around my back, and almost that quickly it was over, for both of us. I lay on top of her, cradling her head against my chest, listening to her breathing that was almost panting, and felt like I had come home.

Neither one of us slept for hours. The experience needed to be repeated, to be experimented with. I was content with no less than touching every inch of her. I memorized her that night, afraid to sleep lest I should forget and wake up to realize it didn't happen. Finally, only a few hours before our next bridge shift, we were too exhausted to continue, too sated, too drunk on each other rather than on the champagne. And then, in the morning, the denial I feared would follow never came. We had both made up our minds long ago, and if the alcohol speeded up the end result a little, we knew it had been inevitable anyway. She woke me with a kiss and a wicked smile.

To our credit, we made it to the bridge on time. That morning, and the next, and several others after.

And then it all fell apart.

I saw her in a new light now, and though it seemed darker than anything else I had envisioned, I saw clearly that we had both retreated. Alone. And I understood for the first time what could be sacrificed, and what never would be.

I am still beside her. I promised to share her burden, to do whatever I could to make it lighter. For a little while, we did that for each other. Now I fear we are too far apart to ever find our way back. I cannot fathom the miles that stretch out before us. I cannot imagine spending them all this way, lost in mutual pain, unable to walk together as we did. Sometimes I see a flash in her eyes, and I wonder if she is remembering. Remembering laughter on the bridge. Sleeping in my arms. And sometimes I wonder if I will eventually choose to stay behind when the ache becomes too strong to bear.

I have promised.

But the miles are many, and the road stark and barren.

Peace seems more elusive than ever.

_"...The woods are lovely, dark and deep._   
_But I have promises to keep,_   
_And miles to go before I sleep,_   
_And miles to go before I sleep."_   
_\--'Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening', Robert Frost_


End file.
